A long time ago, I used to work at the Mervyn's at Serramonte Shopping Mall in Daly City. This one particular Christmas eve, we closed up the store and we got off at 5 or 6, I think. There was an El Torito (Mexican restaurant slash bar) across the parking lot, so a few of us decided to head there for drinks.
About 5 Long Islands later, the bar is closing and this guy, Vince, suggest we all go to his place for beers. And so we go. Vince has a case of beer through which we plow. We drank it up fast. Then, Vince produces a bottle of Herradura, which we all proceed to finish. It's something like 2am and I remember being absolutely gone. The doorbell rings, and a few more people join the party. Somebody brought special brownies, but I didn't know they were special. I hungrily wolf a couple of them down.
I pass out on Vince's couch around 3 or 3.30 in the morning. Soon enough, 6.30 am arrives and Vince is waking me up. "Dude, you gotta get outta here, my parents are gonna be home soon", he says. Thick cobwebs in my brain and my head spinning, I somehow manage to drive home. I couldn't even make it upstairs to my bedroom, I pass out on the couch.
Less than an hour later, my little brothers, ages 6 and 7, come galloping down the stairs for the opening of the Christmas presents. All excited, they wake me up and I'm somehow able to play it straight in front of everyone. After the presents are done and everyone else is occupied, I crawl upstairs to my bed and sleep until dinner time.
Sufjan Stevens > That Was The Worst Christmas Ever